August 26, 2010

We are proud to announce the winner of Caption Contest 2010.6. It was, again, a tough one to call, so much so, in fact, that we've decided to list several Honorable Mentions in addition to the first place winner. Great job to everyone who participated, but alas, there can only be one winner. Congratulations to Norma! Her winning entry is:

Norma, simply comment on this article with your shipping address (which will remain anonymous) and you'll receive a free, signed copy of Orrin Woodward and my book, Launching a Leadership Revolution.And now for the honorable mentions! Congratulations!

As a tight-knit team, at first we didn't think we could trust Johnny as far as we could throw him, then...we got this great idea... ;)

August 16, 2010

Well, I was going to leave this one to the side, but so many of you have been writing and asking who won the World Cup contest that you've left me no choice. And the winner is . . . .

ME!

Yup! Go back and look through the comments yourselves, not that you would ever doubt the integrity of such a fine, literary location as this blog! I not only picked the correct overall winner (Spain), but also picked the the Netherlands to finish top 3. No one else who picked the winner got another top 3 pick correct, and those who picked more than one of the top 3 didn't manage to get the correct winner.

Thanks to everyone for participating! It was truly an eventful and exciting World Cup, and it was made even better by matching wits with all three of you readers out there! :)

Stay tuned for four years from now when we will re-run the competition and give you another shot! (Now, if I could just figure out what to do with this autographed copy of my own book . . . .)

August 04, 2010

Francis Mayes, the author that put Tuscany on the maps of recent tourists with her book (and later movie) Under the Tuscan Sun, wrote of Italy:

“Italy is an immortal playground.Does any country come close to its sustained, heady concoction of joys - serene landscape and magnificent art and layered history and savory cuisine and glorious music and welcoming people? So many ands.”

And, I might add, awesome climate, Ferrari, Lamborghini, Ducatti, and the like.After a month here the features of this incredible land are nearly overpowering, except they hit one in a sublime and friendly way.Of all the countries I’ve visited, Italy ranks among the top three for the most friendly and accommodating people (Ireland and Canada the other two vying for top spot), if not the outright first place winner.Everywhere I’ve gone, every place through which we’ve managed to squeeze the clunky white mini-bus, every wrong turn, wrong way, blocked intersection, illegal entry, parking calamity, and driving uncertainty has brought about not a single angry word, mean gesture, or unfriendly response.The closest thing was an extended explanation of my forlorn ways while driving through the heart of Siena in a Local Traffic Only zone.I shudder to think what an Italian visitor to the United States might have received in a similar, reverse situation.

As I curve continually through Tuscany’s smooth winding roads on my BMW GS 650 motorcycle, I am constantly arrested by the stunning views.Undulating hills of bright tan wheat fields roll like a painting, while gray-green olive tree groves, planted so straightly one might think they were arranged with celestial navigational aides, provide a nice contrast.Bright green vineyards stream past like soldiers at attention.But it’s the architecture that gets me repeatedly.Everywhere I look someone six or eight hundred years ago thought to build a house especially for me!There, on that hilltop yonder, see it?Surrounded by tall, dark green cypress trees standing proudly and a few distinguished maritime pines with their high, distinct canopies.See it? It’s the one with the tile roof, the stucco and stone walls, the creative exterior stairs, and the fifty kilometer view all around.Can’t pick it out, you say? Too many such specimens, you say? Ah, then you see what I mean.

I crane my neck as I downshift gears, believe it or not, letting cars pass.I want to take it all in and not miss a thing. I stop to take photos, shoot a little video, desperate to take the essence of it home, to show it to people, someone, everyone, anyone, to share in my joy.It is like grabbing at smoke.How do I capture it? I’ve got 2400 photos already (literally), and the lens just doesn’t have the grasp for the reach. It won’t capture the depth of the field of view looking over ground that would take an hour to cover even on a fast motorbike (like mine).It doesn’t pick up the hot summer sun on my skin or the smells of the wide-open campania (countryside).Perhaps I can recreate it with words, on my blog, maybe.

Or maybe not.

By the way, I found Frances Mayes’ home on its high perch by a quiet little road.I knew it immediately though I had no guide or confirmation until later.See it there, that house on that hilltop yonder? Someone built it just for her, maybe a few hundred years ago.

August 03, 2010

On our first night in Tuscany, just settling into the little town of Terontola that would be our home for nearly a month, Terri trucked into a small grocery store of sorts in search of some key essentials to get us through the weekend.In her best L’Italiano, she explained that she needed trash bags, to which the helpful and very friendly storeowner kindly walked her over to a display of flip-flops.

Next, maybe a day or two later, I pulled into the small parking lot of something called a ‘Supermarket.’ Terri got out to hunt for fruit and such, but it ended up being a discount shoe store.

In Montepulciano, trying my best to learn of the local attractions, I ordered what I thought to be the famous local red wine; Nobile di Montepulciano.I received a small glass vial of a clear liquid called grappa, (unfamiliar to me as a near teatotaller), which had the distinct taste of gasoline laced with nitroglycerin.Aficionados might laugh at my ignorance, me, I just spat it quickly out before losing the ability to speak for the rest of my life.

But by far the most adventurous language caper was when we showed up at the castle ruins of Castiglione del Lago, set beautifully high on the shore of Lake Trasimeno, Italy’s fourth largest lake.We were decked out in our evening concert-going wear ready for a symphony, only to discover that it was a Blues festival instead.Mimicking the good-natured flexibility of the Italians, we shrugged our shoulders, paid the fee, and went in anyway, thoroughly enjoying the authentic sounds of some of New Orleans’ finest (Dr. John and the Lower 911, to be specific).It was the best symphonic blues concert any of us could recall.

August 01, 2010

People matter, it goes without saying.But there is something special about
getting to know someone, learning their background, building a bond.

Architecture strikes me the same way.When I see an interesting building,
normally the old kind, I can’t help wanting to know the history behind the
arches, the decisions behind the layout, and the reason for its site selection.

At La Contea
(meaning, ‘The Countryside’), our villa perched high on the side of a Tuscan
hill quite near the Umbrian border, we had the collision of both.To me, the building was
fascinating.It was all stone and
concrete and tile, with big, wooden shutters that were extremely functional for
blocking out the scorching mid-day sun and preserving some semblance of cool
inside for the night’s sleeping (I say some
semblance). It was situated on
terraces carved into the hillside, amidst an active olive grove, with a
panoramic view of the valley below, including Lake Trasimeno in the
distance.Its design was extremely
effective and infinitely clever.Someone had sunk hours of thought into this place.

That someone is Giulio Marcelli, the owner and current
operator of the property.He
speaks not a lick of English (though he asked us the English word for ‘fire’
and ‘wood’ once), but this fact didn’t stop him from conversing with us in
Italian.When he and his assistant
Daniele would come around in the mornings to make sure everything was molto benne, there would always be some
interesting interaction, some incredibly confusing conversation for which we
might pick up half.

As the weeks went by, we learned more and more of this
gentle septuagenarian and his background.He and his wife had lovingly designed and built La Contea as a working olive grove in 1980, and perched it on the
site of some old ruins, the type of which we could never discern.Then she died of a debilitating
muscular disease years ago, the elevator in the far end of the house then going
into disuse.He moved out of the
place five years ago, turning it into a rental property where tourists thirsty
for immersion in the joys and mysteries of old Toscana could base themselves;
even a gang of six from America.Giulio gave us olive oil fresh from his property, and shipped us a bunch
more.He kept our pool immaculate
with loving care every morning before we were awake.And perhaps best of all, he told me about a motorcycle trail
that followed the ridge on the mountain behind us all the way to Tuoro, where
the Roman Flaminus and his 16,000 were slaughtered by Hannibal and his Carthaginians
a couple millennium ago.

About to leave on the last day, one of our children pointed
to the many trophies on display on the high shelves of the library.Giulio explained that they were his
son’s, a motocross racer of some renown, who was “always on his motorcycle all
the time.” That is, until he succumbed to the same disease that had taken his
mother.When we asked how long ago
that had occurred, Giulio looked down at the ground forlornly and held up one
finger: a single year ago.

Daniele is sweet and has smiling eyes.She showed up to greet us the first day
dressed in a white summer dress that was as bright as her attitude.She and Terri just kind of clicked
right from the beginning.It was
good that Terri’s Spanish familiarity helped her with the puzzle of deciphering
L’Italiano, because like Giulio, Daniele speaks absolutely no English. But she
has the rather cute tendency to keep repeating Italian words and phrases, dead
certain that with enough repetition, we’ll come to understand it. Daniele and Terri would somehow have
whole conversations that just left me baffled.Occasionally, though, I could decipher a word or two Terri
couldn’t smoke.Glad to be of
help.

As we said our goodbyes and arrivedercies on the last
morning, Giulio gave me the customary double kiss and waved a hearty buon
viaggi.Daniele hugged us all,
complimenting the behavior of our children.The clunky white mini-bus ambled up the bumpy gravel drive
one last time. Tuscany and all
that we experienced here was now transitioning into memories.

“I love people,”
Terri said after a kilometer or two.

We rode along in silence.There was nothing to add.With three words Terri had summed up why it was bearable to
leave this place we’ve grown to love so much.We were heading home; to buildings yes, even of our own
design.But more importantly, to
the people we love and miss.